


another for the one you believe

by smoakoverwatch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/M, Friends to Lovers, They're both oblivious, best friend's little sister (kinda), john diggle is a matchmaker, the media is the worst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakoverwatch/pseuds/smoakoverwatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pursuing his dream of playing hockey doesn't come easy for Oliver Queen. But when his teammate's step sister stumbles into his life, everything changes. Hockey AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I’m kinda excited about this, because I get to attempt to combine my two loves here, and it’s my first attempt in a very long time at multi-chapter fic. I channel a lot of my feelings, it may get a little meta at times… I’m only human. I’ve also used this fic as an excuse to dive into old hockey movies, interviews, documentaries, highlights, etc for accuracy’s sake. It’s all been very fun. 
> 
> Title taken from the song Chelsea Dagger by the Fratellis and chapter title from an Early Winters song. 
> 
> This chapter has it all: random cursing; a background matchmaker; and two awkward, smitten kittens. I hope you enjoy. It is also probably the shortest one you can expect.
> 
> A million thanks to Adri/honorthedeadbyfighting, who is the sweetest beta and best confidence booster in the world.

“Oliver, how do you feel about the rumors that say you might be traded before the season begins?”

Oliver sighs and resists the urge to wipe the bead of sweat he knows is trailing down his face. Every muscle in his body is screaming at him and the temperature of the dressing room is doing nothing to help him cool down. He looks longingly past the reporter to the row of water bottles set up on a table. The small circle of cameras and microphones around him feels a lot tighter than usual. And to top it off, he has to get asked this question.

In short, Oliver’s a little tired and a lot cranky, and it’s a bad combination.

It takes a lot for him not to answer something to the effect of, _it feels fucking wonderful, I love having my skills constantly under question, living the fucking dream over here. How the hell do you think I feel?_

But Oliver is better than that, so he remembers the media training from his rookie days and gives the standard answer.

“Well, at the end of the day this is where I want to play. Starling is my home and where I want to be. I’m just trying to focus on playing the best game I can right now and get ready for this season.”

The reporter, who’s gotten a little too fucking close for Oliver’s liking, looks disappointed with the answer but steps back anyway.

_Don’t know what you expected me to say, bud._

Luckily, it’s the last question Oliver has to deal with and the media clear the dressing room. Once the last reporter has left (giving a backwards glance, as though he expects Oliver to be flipping equipment over), Oliver turns to the stall next to him, where his line mate and best friend, John Diggle, is smiling.

“Could be worse, they could have asked about last year.”

Oliver huffs out a laugh and nods. The team’s collapse during the conference finals of the playoffs four months ago is something Oliver still hasn’t quite recovered from. He already relives the overtime loss in his head any night he can’t sleep, he certainly doesn’t need to have beat reporters bringing it up for him.

He doesn’t realize he’s thinking about it again ( _god, if his tape hit the puck just half a second faster…)_ until Dig asks him something and he completely misses it.

“Sorry… what?” It’s embarrassing, really, that he lets himself get in his own head like that. But because Dig is the best, he doesn’t comment on the space out.

“I said, you’re still coming to the barbeque tomorrow, right?”

“Last party before the season starts, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Mostly because he knows the food will be kickass, or good enough for him to deal with people and conversation.

“Good.” John opens his mouth to say more, but instead he picks up his bag and nods goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s times like these that Oliver kind of understands why his little sister, Thea, always tells him he needs a hobby. He muses this the following day over his bottle of beer, listening to his teammates share stories of what they did over the summer and hoping none of them ask what he did.

He scours his mind hard for any kind of anecdote from the summer and realizes that he honestly has nothing to share if he does get asked. Something tells him that saying ‘I stayed in Starling the whole time and trained so I don’t fail again’ will sound as pathetic as it feels. Before he can get singled out, he gets up and wanders to the kitchen, weaving through some of his friends’ significant others without much thought.

To his relief, the kitchen is empty, and Oliver feels like he can breathe again. He leans on the counter to look at some of the pictures on John’s fridge, smiling at a picture of his daughter, Sara, drowning in a Starling City Archers jersey.

If he feels the slightest tugging in his chest at the sight, he ignores it.

“Oliver, there you are.” He tears his eyes away from the photograph to see John walking towards him, a small blonde trailing reluctantly behind.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met my step sister.” He pulls the blonde forward from where she was trying to hide behind his back. “This is Felicity Smoak. Felicity, meet Oliver Queen.”

When _Felicity_ looks up at him with wide blue eyes and Oliver’s pretty sure his heart honestly skips a beat, a part of his mind wonders when he decided to become such a fucking cliché.

He ignores the feeling, however, and gives her a polite smile. “So you’re Felicity. I’ve heard a lot about you from your step brother over here.”

She smiles back cordially, the nervousness she must have felt visibly ebbing away slightly. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh don’t worry, Felicity, I told him all about how excited you were when you found out I play on the same team as him and how you asked me for…” John’s teasing is cut off by Felicity punching his arm, whining “ _John_!” and looking mortified. He laughs it off and excuses himself when they hear Lyla calling for him.

“That wasn’t true,” Felicity blurts out when they’re left alone. “What John said, I mean. I’m not—I mean, you’re a great player, but I’m not– I actually don’t even— he’s just...”

Oliver finds that the polite smile he’s wearing gets exchanged for a real one as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. “He was just teasing,” he offers helpfully.

She opens her eyes and breathes a sigh of relief, returning his smile.

In the following moments of silence, he gets a chance to really get a look at her. She’s… very pretty, he decides cautiously. She’s wearing a sundress and her wavy blonde hair brushes against her shoulders. When she nervously reaches up to straighten her glasses, he notices her nails are painted a bright pink, matching the colour of her lipstick.

He is, for all intents and purposes, very much so attracted to all these details he notices.

_This is fucking weird._

He finds himself thinking desperately for something to say, mostly so she doesn’t think he just wants to stare at her (he kind of does, but that’s beside the point), but also because he wants to continue the conversation.

“So, I’ve heard John talk about you for years, why am I just meeting you now?” He blurts out. The question comes out more accusatory than Oliver would have liked and he silently curses himself (when did he get so damn rusty?), but it does the trick.

“I haven’t been in Starling much,” she replies with a smile, and Oliver has to focus very hard on what she’s saying and not be distracted by the way her face lights up.  It’s almost embarrassing. “I’ve been at MIT and I only just finished my Master’s and got a job here, so I moved back last month.”   

 _Right._ Oliver wants to kick himself at that moment because John did mention she was in college and he remembers that, and now he kind of feels like a dick. Although, he has to admit that when he had first heard about her, Oliver assumed she’d be… older. He pushes those thoughts aside and nods, desperately trying to find some other conversation point.

“Right, your brother mentioned you got a job at Queen Consolidated, how are you liking it there?” That’s a normal thing, right? Asking about people’s jobs? _God_ he’s so shit at this, there’s a reason he’s a hockey player.

“Oh, you know, it’s okay. Kind of a boys club, but that’s just the tech field I guess. And it’s an entry level job, so I’m just trying to get up there. Doesn’t exactly help that my supervisor is a—” She stops herself, suddenly, and her eyes widen. “I mean, I love it! Dream come true. Very happy to be working there and very happy to have a job.” She purses her lips together, as though to physically stop herself from saying more.

He lets out a wholehearted laugh, surprising himself and probably her. “Don’t worry, Felicity, I’m not really involved in my family’s company.”

She grins in return and whispers, “Right”.

It isn’t much, but it’s enough that whatever was holding them back disappears, and they fall into easy conversation.

He spends the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with her, where they eventually sit down on the island stools and talk, not noticing when the sun disappears and the room gets dark around them. They barely acknowledge they’ve been talking for a good hour when Oliver moves to turn on the light while continuing his story about Thea and him when they were kids.

Oliver thinks he’d be quite glad to spend the rest of the night right there with her. He might have said more to her than he has to some of his teammates on the Archers. It feels strangely freeing. He wishes it would never end.

His wish doesn’t get granted, however. Lyla pops her head in and interrupts Felicity’s story of her mom meeting John’s father.

“Felicity, there you are. Thank god, can you grab Sara for me for a second? I need to put out a fire, Harper did something stupid and Johnny might kill him.”

_What the hell did they miss?_

Felicity smiles apologetically at him before getting up and following Lyla out. If he was looking anywhere other than her retreating figure, Oliver might’ve noticed Lyla’s knowing smile as she exits.

He sits in the empty room, revelling in what just transpired, before he decides to get up too, figuring that his by now his absence would be noticeable. When he returns to the patio, everyone seems to be settling down from some minor crisis or the other.

Nobody really acknowledges him as he settles down in his seat, except for Dig, who turns to him with a small smirk

“There you are. I thought you would spend the whole night with my sister,” he says quietly.

Oliver’s eyes dart between John and the wall behind him, the collar of his t-shirt suddenly feeling tighter than his liking. “What?” is all he’s able to choke out.

 Was it really that obvious they spent a good portion of the party talking? Is that bad? Is John actually angry, but just hiding it? Why does this worry him so much?

 John only chuckles. “I’m kidding.”

 _Jesus fuck,_ he thinks as he leans back into his seat, _I might be in trouble._

Felicity enters the room before he can give it more thought, balancing Sara on her hip and greeting other players like old friends. Her face lights up as she talks animatedly, her one free hand gestures wildly. He’s well aware that John is probably watching him, but he can’t tear his eyes away if he tried.

Yeah, he’s definitely in trouble.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry this took forever to update. Truthfully I had this written in January but I was never satisfied with it so I held on. I'm still not entirely sold on it, but I've been keeping this to myself for too long. 
> 
> The response I received on the first chapter was fantastic, by the way, I'm overjoyed that people liked it. I hope you guys enjoy this follow up just as much. Awkward beginnings are still awkward.

“Whoa, is that _John Diggle?”_ The voice comes from behind Felicity as she tries very hard to work. She looks up at the picture frame of her and her step-brother a few summers back, grinning at the camera. She added it to her desk toys hesitantly a few days ago, hoping nobody would notice. It was never a problem in Boston, but here in Starling John is one of those players whose face is plastered anywhere there is Archers advertising. Really, she should have known.

“Yes, Myron, it is.” She turns back to look at her co-worker, sliding back her chair slightly when she notices how close he’s leaning.

“Huh, I didn’t know you were into hockey, Smoak.” He laughs like it’s something funny, and she only smiles in response and turns back to her screen, because she really needed this report finished _yesterday_ and this is not a conversation she wants to have right now.

Myron doesn’t take the hint, however.

“So lucky that you met him. Is he a nice guy? You hear things about athletes, you know? But he seems cool.”

She closes her eyes and takes a breath. . It was bound to happen eventually.

“Actually, I didn’t just meet him. He’s my step brother. And I think he’s a pretty decent guy, personally.”

If Myron were a cartoon, Felicity muses, his jaw would drop to the floor and his eyes would be out of his sockets. It’d be funny, if it was the first time she had to deal with the reaction, but it’s not, and really it’s gotten old by now, and, really, _she has work to do, dammit._

Myron starts to ask another question, but Felicity turns away to her screen again, and this time he takes the hint.

She’ll probably hear more mutterings around the other guys in the department later that she’s an ice queen, but she couldn’t care less.

Felicity doesn’t have time to dwell on what just happened, though, as she is pulled away from her thoughts by her cell phone vibrating on her desk. The bullpen is cleared out as everyone is on lunch, Myron being the last to leave, so she answers the unknown number.

“Hello?” she says cautiously, reaching out idly to twirl the red pen sitting on her desk as she leans back in her chair.

“Hi,” a male voice huffs out on the other end, amidst the sounds of cars whirring past. _Why does that voice sound so familiar?_ “It’s Oliver. Uh, Queen. Oliver Queen, that is. Calling you.”

The pen she’s holding slips from her fingers and clatters onto her desk.

Why the hell is Oliver Queen calling her?

“Oh, hi, Oliver.” She winces, because she really doesn’t know what to say. “Er… How are you?”

She hears a… laugh? From the receiver. “Fine, fine. Uh, John gave me your number, if you were wondering.” She wasn’t, until he brings it up, and she has to try _very_ hard not to think about what that scene would have looked like.

_Get it together, Smoak._

“Oh,” is all she can choke out.

“Yeah. Uh, I actually called to talk about Dig.” _Words every girl wants to hear_. “His birthday’s coming up and I wasn’t sure what to get him. Usually I just get him some expensive booze but I wanted to do something different this year.” Her eyes trail over to the calendar that sits next to her picture frames to confirm that John’s birthday dinner is, indeed, two weeks away.

“Huh. Well, anything you had in mind?”

“No, not a clue, it’s why I called you.” _Don’t look too far into that one, Smoak._ “I figure you know him pretty well, the kind of thing he’d want.”

“Well, Oliver, John’s really not the kind of person who cares too much, I’m sure he’ll like whatever you get him. But, I don’t mind listening to your ideas if you need me.”

“Great, how’s uh, how’s right now?”

“Now’s fine, although I can only be on the phone for a bit longer,” she looks around the mostly empty floor.

“What if I, uh, what if I stopped by?”

Felicity managed to finish her undergrad at MIT the same year she turned nineteen, and yet all she’s able to choke out is an eloquent, “huh?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward.” Oliver mutters a curse he probably didn’t want her to hear. “I just meant… I mean, practice finished early and I’m near the QC building so I just figured…”

_Holy frack._

She looks back at her computer screen and the stack of paper work on her desk. She knows the responsible thing to do would be to tell Oliver she’s swamped and she’s sorry, maybe next time.

But she doesn’t want to.

“No, no, it’s fine. That could work, I’m on lunch right now anyway.” She winces at the lie, because she’s not entirely sure she even _brought_ a lunch with her today, nor did she even plan stepping out to grab something. _But it’s fine_ , _you get to see him again,_ a tiny, dangerous part of her mind whispers.

And that is how she finds herself making space for Oliver in her cramped cubicle, not ten minutes after hanging up the phone.

It’s been two weeks since they last spoke at John’s dinner party, so she’s a little taken aback as she’s reminded of how… striking he is. His size, or maybe his general _aura_ (which she supposes is just an Oliver Queen thing) make him fill up the small space, and he looks like he walked out of a magazine instead of practice, which quite frankly is just unfair. He’s not dressed especially fancy, just a white t-shirt and jeans, but she’d be lying if she said her breath didn’t catch when he walked in.

_Get it together, Smoak._

She forgot how easily she got lost in conversation with Oliver last time, but it happens again. This time, they’re spared any awkward preamble by finding common ground in John.

“Yeah, I really wanted to get him a good gift this year,” Oliver says once he settles down. Something in his demeanour seems off, but Felicity tries to ignore it. “He helped me through some really tough times five years ago.”

“Oh?” it catches Felicity off guard. “How so?”

When he casts his eyes downward and doesn’t respond right away, she feels her ears burn. “I mean, I didn’t mean to pry. Sorry, forget I asked.”

The corner of his lips curl up. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just refreshing.” He looks up at her again. “When I first got drafted with the Archers, I was in a bad place. I had all this… pressure and more media attention than I was used to and I was only eighteen. Then, I started making money that wasn’t my family’s, and I was in a city where I had freedom and… _fame_ … I spiralled for a while. I went out and partied a lot and I didn’t care about anything and I was a total media headache. I almost lost some of my endorsement contracts and was really close to being traded.

“But then, a few years later, Dig got traded to Starling. And he’s older, sure, but he didn’t treat me like everyone else did. He didn’t see me as some stupid, entitled kid. He… wanted to talk. He listened. He got me out of that place.” His smile grows slightly, and Felicity’s chest feels warm. “I owe a lot to him, as a hockey player and as a person.”

Felicity is only able to nod. She’s always known that the two were close, but she had no idea the extent. She suddenly hates herself for any assumptions she had once made about Oliver Queen.

They move onto lighter topics after that, like Felicity’s work and how Oliver feels about the regular season starting in a few days. Once again, they lose track of time until others start trickling back into the bullpen and Oliver decides he doesn’t want to attract that attention to himself right now. He exits with a shy smile and a promise to see her again soon.

Felicity tries really, _really_ hard not to overanalyze whether or not Oliver looked disappointed about leaving.

(It does make concentrating the rest of the day a little bit harder, though)

It isn’t until long after he’s left that Felicity realizes they never actually decided on a birthday gift for John.

 

* * *

 

Felicity is tired. And when she gets tired, she’s been told she gets a little mean.

Like now, for example, when she gets home from work at nine to John’s disapproving glare and Lyla’s insistence that she eats dinner. She’s been away from home for so long she forgot what it’s like to have people fuss over her like this, but a month with John and Lyla has made her remember why she hated it so much.

She desperately needs to find her own place.

That is, if she ever finds time.

Her step brother and sister in law insist on sitting at the table with her, Sara having gone down for the night a few hours ago.

She picks at her food tiredly, not actually eating it, as John unsuccessfully tries to ask about her day. His voice grows more impatient as he is obviously displeased with her giving one word responses like a teenager.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“Adjusting to QC life okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been working late a lot recently.”

“Yup.”

“ _Felicity._ ”

“ _John._ ”

“I certainly hope you’ve been putting in more hours so that you’ll be able to make it to the home opener tomorrow.” He says finally, and Felicity’s head shoots up.

“Your game is tomorrow.” He nods. _Crap,_ she is officially the worst step sister in the world.

“Puck drops at 7:30, Lyla has all of your tickets. Please, do try to be there.”

_Crap crap crap._

“I’ll be there, John, duh.” She forces a smile, “nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

That’s a lie. She’d rather be putting in as many hours at QC as she can so she can quickly get out of doing grunt work in the IT department, but she isn’t going to share that.

He smiles back, though, so it’s okay.

“So,” his shift in his tone makes her nervous as he leans forward, grin widening. “I heard you met with Oliver the other day.”

“Yup,” she responds cautiously, preparing to be on the defensive “He stopped by my office a few days ago.”

“So I heard,” he shares a look with Lyla, and Felicity wants to scream. She _really_ hates when they do that. “You know, Felicity, Oliver’s a really good guy, which is…”

_Good God, here we go._

“John,” Felicity holds up a hand. “I’m really tired, and I don’t want to have this conversation right now.”

John’s smile drops, and she’s glad he is able to instantly recognize her tone of voice.

“Felicity I…” he starts, but she’s already getting up.

“I’m going to bed,” she turns to Lyla. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll probably head to the game straight from work. See you guys then.”

She trudges to her room, letting out a shaky breath. She tries very hard not to think about what John was implying down there, but it’s too late.

Despite how tired she was, she finds it a little harder to sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Felicity rushes out of work earlier than normal to head over to the Archers game, pulling the green jersey with ‘Diggle’ stitched on the back over her dress before she leaves. She nearly misses the start, but she sprints her way to the first row just as warm up is about done.

As she settles down, John skates over to wave to them all and blow kisses at Sara (which is hilarious and adorable in all his gear). He smiles at Felicity, and it’s obvious he’s surprised she made it. It makes her feel a little ashamed, but she promises herself that since she’s in Starling now, she’s going to be more supportive.

It’s been a while since she’s been to a game (Starling’s one game a year in Boston always came at the worst time), so it takes Felicity some time to adjust to the atmosphere. It isn’t hard to get sucked into the excitement, though.

Despite what you could say about Californian teams, Starling City is definitely a hockey town. The crowd is a sea of green and black, filled with people who are clearly very excited to be there. The loud cheering, the music and the overall _love_ for the game make it very easy for Felicity to adjust to the energy, something she hasn’t done in a long time.

It’s been so long, apparently, that Felicity’s seemed to have forgotten how hockey fans act.

It starts when they announce the starting lineup, each player receiving wild cheers from the crowd, she notices that that two fans behind her have a running commentary going.

She tries to ignore it, really, but it’s hard. It feels especially weird considering she knows most of these guys at least on an acquaintance level.

When Oliver’s name is announced, well, she isn’t sure what she expected, but she doesn’t expect so much _complaining._

“God, I can’t wait till they trade Queen.”

“Can’t believe they’re spending all this money on that name.”

“They should have drafted Allen first.”

“Cost us the fucking playoffs last year.”

Lyla, who’s noticed Felicity’s increasing irritation, gives her a look that says “ignore them”.

But Felicity was really never one for avoiding confrontation anyway.

“Hey!” She turns back to see two guys in their twenties, wearing Starling jerseys over their suits (one of them, she notes, has Oliver’s number 5 on the sleeve). At their surprised faces, she stops herself. _What the hell is she doing?_

“Can you watch your language? There are kids around.” She points to Sara with her chin. The fans look caught off guard, so they don’t respond except for nodding. She throws a tight smile before turning back to face the ice, where the players have set themselves up for the national anthem.

Lyla looks at her with raised eyebrows and a smile on her face.

“What? I’m not going to have my niece have to listen to that.” Felicity says, trying to seem nonchalant. Inside, she feels a little guilty and a lot scared that Sara’s impressionable ears were most certainly _not_ what her instincts wanted her to defend.                                        

The game is interesting enough. Given her childhood with John she’s been around hockey enough to know the ins and outs of the sport. Other than hockey Felicity’s not really a sports person, but it’s very easy to get into the game. Central is close enough to Starling that there’s a fair amount of fans who travelled to watch, which makes it fun.

It’s also her first time watching Oliver Queen play, in the flesh.

Felicity’s only human. She’s always been a little intrigued by Oliver before she met him. Half of John’s stories involved him, and he’s an almost permanent figure in those “Hottest NHL Players” lists that she’s seen _(okay, read. Skim read, at best, out of boredom and curiosity)._ She’s also a little familiar with him from his presence in most of John’s highlights on TV. She absolutely never let it go further than that, though, so the game is a surprise.

When he’s on a shift, Felicity observes, Oliver is… everywhere.

He’s there making plays, talking to other players               and pointing. He’s there to defend if one of his teammates gets unfairly checked. If he’s in the ref’s face anytime the two times Starling gets a penalty, trying to get justice, she assumes.  By the end of the first period, where the score is already tied 2-2, Oliver is all she can notice. He hasn’t scored yet himself, but he has assists on both of the goals.

“John had a good shift there.” Lyla comments, and Felicity’s too distracted to notice the knowing tone in her sister in law’s voice.

“Yup,” she drags her eyes to where John is, skating off the ice. She feels slightly embarrassed that she’s been watching Oliver like a high schooler with a crush.

_Which I certainly am not. The high schooler part, obviously, but also someone with a crush._

During intermission, she pulls out her tablet to check some work emails and looks over a report she needs to finish by tomorrow, ignoring Lyla’s knowing look.

Once she finishes, she discreetly turns the brightness down on her tablet. Once she’s absolutely sure Lyla won’t be looking over her shoulder (not that she would), Felicity relents to the small voice that has been bothering her since John’s dinner party two weeks ago.

It starts by downloading a few apps. The team’s official one, the NHL app, and a few sports news sources, that’s all. She tells herself that if she’s back in Starling, she’s going to be at a lot of games for her brother, so she might as well get back into the game.

Once all the apps and appropriate notifications are set up (there are two little stars next to two players’ names, one is her brother and the other she doesn’t want to think about), Felicity starts the reading. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing until later.

Her long years at MIT made her an effective reader and researcher, and she uses that as a defense as she skims recent articles. Most of them don’t give much, given it’s only the beginning of the season. But she starts to notice a lot of the articles in relation to this game keep bringing up this kid from Central named Barry Allen, coupled with Oliver’s.

The rest of the game is exciting. The score doesn’t change until the dying minutes of the third period, when Starling pulls their goalie and Felicity finds her heart is racing.

She could pause and overthink it, but instead she high fives Lyla and joins in the excitement of the game.

She can worry later.

 

* * *

 

When later comes, boy does Felicity worry.

It hits her properly as she is driving home from the game, when she changes her standard top forty radio station to find a sports channel.

It’s so instinctual she almost misses what she’s done.

When the radio host goes over the highs and lows of the game, and it hits her, Felicity almost slams the breaks on her car on instinct.

What the hell is she doing?

Her mind starts, well, doing what it always does, and a frustrating conversation with two parts of her begin.

_It’s for John. It’s only normal to keep up with how he’s doing now that I’m in Starling._

_You know damn well it isn’t about John anymore, Smoak._

_He’s John’s friend, I’m going to be seeing a lot of him. We’re even becoming friends now._

_Careful, Smoak._

“Okay enough.” She finds herself saying out loud, which is never a good sign. 

Felicity’s a woman of science, she’s logical. She can reason with herself.

If the implication here is that she’s suddenly developing some kind of crush on _Oliver Queen,_ well, that’s just absurd. As she always does in situations like these, she starts a mental list.

Well, for one, she’s only met him twice.

Which leads to two: she doesn’t know him well enough.

Three: she doesn’t get involved with hockey players. Period.

Four: the very premise is ridiculous, so this is all moot anyway.

Her mind’s eye draws a separate column. A: … they could at least be friends

 “Okay,” she gently taps her steering wheel, “I am officially losing it.”

She doesn’t have time to dwell on her newly drawn conclusion, however, as she hears the very name that’s on her mind come through the speakers.

 _“… and I just don’t think_ _Oliver Queen has been performing the way we expect him and pay him too. Frankly Greg I think the Archers should trade him this summer, if not before this year is up.”_

_“Thanks for calling in, Mark…”_

She isn’t too worried about what she’s doing anymore, because now she has a new problem, which is called _I need to stop myself from calling in and telling this Mark guy exactly why he’s wrong._

Instead, she switches the station (with a little too much aggression, maybe) and cranks up the bubble gum pop song that is playing.

The rest of her drive home is spent trying to think about anything _but_ this hockey player that has stumble into her life.

 

* * *

 

One evening, Felicity comes home from a particularly long day at the office to find Oliver seated on John’s couch. He turns to her as she walks in and gives an easy smile as he greets her.

If it makes her stomach flutter just a little bit, well then she just elects to ignore that.

She also doesn’t really want to dwell on how plopping herself down next to him and picking up conversation about each of their day feels like the easiest thing in the world.

Instead, she decides that maybe having Oliver Queen around all the time won’t be that bad after all.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> twitter: @smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr: overwatchandarrow


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s another chapter! Thank you for sticking with me and expressing interest in this story. All the feedback means the world to me. I’m really sorry for the long gaps between updates. I’m not going to lie, this was just hard to get out. It’s not the best and it’s mostly set up, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

When the first game of the season ends in a win, against Central City of all teams, spirits are high for all the guys in the locker room.

That is, for all the guys except Oliver.

He methodically peels his helmet off his head, keeping it down and trying to drown out all the noise. He doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s Roy who’s hooking his phone to the speakers to get his obnoxious music ready. Coach doesn’t say much, but whatever he does say doesn’t register. There’s a little bit of whooping after he’s done. Everyone’s happy.

He still keeps his head down. The locker room is too loud. Everyone’s chatting and laughing as they undress and head to the showers, and it drives him crazy.

He really wishes he could just celebrate with the other guys. But he can’t.

Eventually, when Diggle’s knowing glances from the next stall over get to be too irritating for Oliver’s liking, he trudges off to the showers, where at least he can drown out everyone’s voices just a bit.

It’s not like there isn’t stuff from the game he should be happy about. For Christ’s sake, they won. They _won._ He scored the game winning goal.

It frustrates Oliver to no end that it just isn’t _enough_. It doesn’t feel like enough.

He stays under the water for longer than he probably should and when he comes out he sees that most of the guys have left.

Diggle waits for him, because of course he does. His lips are pressed in a firm line and Oliver knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“Oliver –” he starts.

“Diggle, I’m really not in the mood.” Oliver doesn’t face him as he haphazardly shoves things into his duffle bag.

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” Oliver _still_ doesn’t look at his teammate to know he’s grinning. “Lyla wanted to know if you were free for dinner next Friday.”

“Oh.” He finally looks up and Diggle _is_ smiling, the smug asshole. “Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” He’s showing teeth now, and Oliver fights the urge to punch him. “See ya.”

It’s one of those many moments Oliver is glad to have a person like John Diggle in his life.

* * *

 

When Friday comes, Oliver makes himself comfortable on the couch at the Diggle residence watching the basketball game. Sara is at his feet playing on her little mat, and he can hear Lyla and Diggle talking quietly in the kitchen behind him.

He loves coming here. It’s the closest thing he’s got to home these days and he considers them all his family. Any pretences of being a guest here disappeared so many years ago he doesn’t even remember what that would feel like.

He doesn’t even hear the front door open until a familiar voice rings through. “Hey, guys.”

_Oh._

Felicity’s here.

It’s not the first time she’s run into him at these Diggle family dinners he’s crashed, but Oliver’s still not quite used to her presence.

She walks in, rubbing her eyes and dumping her bag on the floor. When she opens her eyes and sees him she lets out a startled, “Oh, hey, Oliver.” She gives him the smallest smile.

When Diggle walks in, Oliver swears he can see Felicity’s shoulders tense up, but decides he’s just imagining it.

“Oh, you’re finally home.” He says lightly. “I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up.”

“Yeah,” any trace of her smile from before is gone. “I was driving, so I couldn’t answer.”

“Really,” Diggle crosses his arms. “It took you two hours to drive home?”

“Yup.” She says flatly.

“Felicity,” he starts warningly, and ignores the frustrated sigh and pointed glare combo Felicity throws him.

 “This working late is getting ridiculous.” Of course, Oliver knows that tone in Diggle’s voice, he’s been on the other side of it too many times to count. “It’s past 7 on a _Friday._ What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t leave for Monday?”

“John,” Felicity _does_ sound exhausted. And it’s clear to Oliver they’ve had this conversation before. “I’m really not in the mood for this right now. I’m sorry I didn’t call, okay?”

“That’s not what this is about, Felicity,” John moves in sync of his step-sister as she tries to go past him and upstairs. “This is about you becoming a _workaholic_. I’m worried about you, you look exhausted.  I get you want to work hard, but this isn’t healthy.”

 “John,” her voice is still low where Diggle’s started to rise, but there’s an edge to it. “I’m a grown adult, I think I can figure out what my own limits are. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you to—to—“

“To what, Felicity? Look out for you? Be concerned?” He pushes with his words until she finally explodes.

“To _parent_ me! I don’t need you to act like my parent, John, I haven’t needed that for a long time.” She takes a deep breath, presumably to lower her voice. “You keep _hovering_ over me and you’re overbearing and it’s like I never left home sometimes and I wi –“

Whatever she says, makes the step siblings pause, Oliver notices. Well, he tries not to notice the entire ordeal from his spot on the couch but, really, can you blame him?

The silence that settles over the room as Felicity’s words hang in the air makes everything feel heavy and uncomfortable.

“John, I—“ shame colors Felicity’s voice, but Diggle cuts her off.

“I need some air. I’ll be back in five.” And before Oliver can even register, he brushes past them all and moves towards the backyard door.

When Felicity moves to follow him out, Lyla emerges from the kitchen with a sigh. “Don’t, I’ll follow him.” When she has one hand on the door, she turns back with a finger pointed at Felicity. “And you stay right here, we’re all going to have dinner together.”

When Lyla leaves (with what Oliver isn’t afraid to admit is a terrifying look in her eye), Felicity throws herself into the armchair next to Oliver. She’s about to throw her head back until she apparently remembers he’s still there.

“Uh,” she fiddles with the end of her hair awkwardly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He shakes his head awkwardly, because well, _that was fucking uncomfortable to sit through._

“No big deal. Uh,” his eyes shift uncomfortably from one end of the wall to the other, “do you want to… talk about it?”

She responds with a small, tired smile. He’s past the point of pretending that the sight doesn’t make his chest feel warmer. “’S no big deal,” she says blearily, “John and I just aren’t used to being under the same roof after so long. I need my own space and I’ve _definitely_ overstayed my welcome here. I just have no time to go looking for any apartments around the city with work keeping me so busy and the weekends being _family time¸_ according to Lyla. And I don’t want to cross her.”

He laughs at that, being on the other end of Lyla Michaels’ threats before.

“Even if I had the time though,” she continues, “I don’t even know where to start looking. New city and all that.” She leans back on the headrest of the couch.

“My place,” he blurts out.

Her head flies back up again and her eyes are wide at his response.

“I mean –” Fuck _._ “Not _my place_ , but, my building. I know there’s a few units I know of that just got on the market. You’d be closer to work?” in an insane almost out of body experience, the words tumble out of Oliver’s mouth even though he wants to stop. Dread fills his stomach as he watches her purse her lips. _Great,_ he thinks, _she thinks you’re the biggest creep on the planet._

It’s silent for a few minutes, Felicity looks so deep in thought

“I didn’t mean to – It was just a suggestion; you don’t have to—”

“Send me the information,” she cuts him off, “I’ll look into it.”

They exchange small grins as Oliver nods.

When the sound of the back door sliding open cuts off their conversation, Felicity’s eyes widen. “Um, Oliver,” she says in a low, hurried voice, “let’s maybe not tell John about this one tonight.”                                 

He doesn’t get a chance to response because Lyla marches forward looking quite pleased with herself. “Hope you guys are ready for the best damn chicken parm you’ve ever tasted. I really think Johnny and I nailed it this time. Oliver, help me set the table?”

Lyla may be many things, but subtle is not one of them.

Still he follows, out of the corner of his eye seeing the two step siblings moving closer together, whispering before Diggle wraps his arms around her. It makes him move a little quicker to give the two some privacy.

* * *

 

Oliver decides it’s just not his week.

Or maybe no matter how long he’s in the game for he’ll just never get used to these fucking media scrums.

“Oliver, there seemed to be some miscommunication last game between you and John Diggle what  do you think –“

“Oliver, what have you been doing to help the rookies –“

“Oliver, what do you say about the rumors that the coaching staff has been –“

And on, and on and on.

The one thing that sets him off is so _stupid_ he wants to kick himself for it.

“So Oliver, your last game against Central City had you against Barry Allen. Now, for a long time you two –“

“You know,” he cuts the beat reporter off, not recognizing the tone in his own voice, “it’s been almost ten years since that draft.”

Silence falls over the locker room as every reporter and sorry intern fiddling with a recorder snaps their attention to him.

The reporter who asked the question shifts awkwardly in his spot. “I can count.”

“Can you?” Oliver retorts.

The regret runs through his veins immediately as every journalist and cameramen raises their eyebrow and _Goddamn,_ he can already see it, headlines running that Ollie’s Attitude is back.

He finishes the rest of the media scrum quickly and without incident, thankfully. By the time they all clear out, he can feel some other eyes in the room on him. He tries to ignore all of it and instead gathers his equipment.

There’s muttering behind him, it sounds like the coaches and Diggle, if Oliver had to wager a guess.

 When his best friend walks over to him, Oliver realizes he has no patience left to offer. “John,” he says in a low voice, “I know what I did and I’m really not –“

“I know,” Diggle cuts him off immediately, “I know you’re not that same person anymore, Oliver, and that you regret what you said. It’s fine, it happens. The important thing is that you can recognize when you stepped out of line. I know what you’re thinking Oliver. But you’re wrong, you’ve grown a lot since I first met you. I think you know this to. Go home, get some rest.”

For the second time this week, Oliver leaves the arena thinking about how lucky he is to have met someone like Diggle.

* * *

 

He doesn’t want to go home after that mess.

He isn’t really sure where else he should go; all he knows is that he doesn’t feel like going back to his large empty loft just yet. He goes anyway, because tomorrow’s a travel day and he’s tired as shit and he’s too old to not be responsible right now.

He barely registers trudging through the parking garage, and in the elevator fatigue settles into his bones and makes his head feel heavy. He’s about to lean on the wall of the moving elevator car when it stops at the lobby and a familiar blonde steps in.

“Oliver!” Felicity’s face lights up, her mood a vast improvement from the last time they spoke. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Hey, I didn’t know you were all moved in already,” Oliver feels a little guilty that he didn’t even think to offer help move boxes or anything.

“Yeah, finished up this weekend, didn’t take long, don’t have many things yet,” she waves it off dismissively, as though able to read his thoughts. “Anyway, I never got to properly thank you for helping me find this place, I really owe you one.”

Oliver’s ears feel weirdly warm, and he hates himself for it. _How old is he?_ “It’s no big deal, anything to help a friend out.”

She gives a quick smile before her face shifts to a more serious one. “By the way,” she says softly, “I heard what was going on. Don’t let ‘em get to you.”

A weird, unnameable emotion knots at the centre of his throat, and all he can do is nod. She opens her mouth to say something more before the elevator slows down and opens to her floor.

“See you around, neighbor,” she throws him one final grin and a wink before stepping out.

Oliver decides that maybe coming home wont be so bad after all.                                                            

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! The thing where Oliver snaps at the journalist is not just me being dramatic, a very similar thing happened to one of my favourite players here three years ago (I've been drawing a lot of media + Oliver interaction inspiration from actual players I like). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> twitter: @smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr: overwatchandarrow


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? An update? Yeah. I’m so, so sorry for the long wait.
> 
> Anyway, if you’re still here, I hit a wall with this and realized what I was afraid of. Now that I’ve figured it out, I’m back with hopefully more updates. 
> 
> It's kind of a filler, so please don't hate me for it. (For what it’s worth, I actually cried when I realized I finished this. And I’m totally saying that for pity if this chapter kind of disappoints).
> 
> I hope you enjoy! xoxo

Felicity barely has time to kick off her heels and walk over for her kitchen (wine – she needs it after the day she’s had) before her phone starts buzzing from her pocket.

When she pulls out her phone she nearly groans at the sight she’s greeted with – her mother’s vibrant smile looking up at her.

She _so_ did not have the energy to deal with this right now.

But this is probably her own fault, she relents as she swipes to answer the call, knowing she’s avoided about 3 texts from Donna Smoak this week. And she typically doesn’t take that well.

“Hi, mom,” she answers with a sigh.

“Finally,” is the biting response she gets. “I was beginning to think I would need to fly down to you myself to get you to talk to me.”

Felicity rubs her hands over her eyes, not caring that her day’s makeup has likely just been ruined. The response that weighs on the tip of her tongue is a sharp _no, god forbid you should actually come see me_ , but she knows that would only do more harm than good.

Instead, she keeps her voice light. “Sorry, it’s been a crazy few days with work and the move. How are you guys? How’s dad?”

Joseph Diggle wasn’t technically her father, but since the man who should have been carrying that title skipped out of Felicity when she was seven, she let her step father take the title right after he married her mom and whisked them off to the Midwest when she was ten. Since she left home only a handful of years later, they never got particularly close, but she loved the man all the same.

“He’s been good, the garage keeps him busy now that he’s retired. He misses you, you know.”

Felicity ignores the quip and carries on as she lets burgundy liquid pour into her glass

“I miss you guys too.” It comes out so half heartedly she can _feel_ the frustration radiating off her mother from her spot in Illinois.

“How’s the new place? Are you settling in okay?” evidently her mother is pushing down some feelings herself as she changes the subject.

“It’s been good, the condo’s close enough to work that I can walk home most days. I haven’t really fully unpacked yet but I like it.”

“Are you going to have a little housewarming party for all your friends?” And Felicity smiles bitterly to herself, suddenly feeling like she did when she was thirteen and her mother _just didn’t get why_ she didn’t want to have a birthday party.

“Well, mom, at this point it would really just be John, Lyla and I guess Oliver there.” The last name slips out before she even realizes it, and she doesn’t want to address why her mind automatically pictured him there.

The name does, however, distract Donna even more from any annoyance she felt at Felicity as she lets out a squeal. “Ohhh, Oliver!” she exclaims so loud Felicity has to move the phone away from her ear. “How’s that angel doing? It’s been so long, I miss him!”

“He’s… good? I guess?” she takes another fortifying sip, because it seems like her mother might want to talk Oliver Queen for more time than she wants, which is why her next words come out more bitterly than she can control “I didn’t realize you two were close.”

“He’s always been so sweet to me the last few times I visited John in Starling.”

Donna carries on, telling the story of how he was over one night for dinner and offered Donna extra tickets but Felicity can’t pay attention. Instead she’s hit with a feeling she kept locked for so long, as her mother’s words remind her of the trips she would take down to see her step son. It reminds her of the years Felicity spent in Boston for both school and one brief stint of work where she had no money to visit home herself and only settled for Skyping.

She pushes down the feeling and carries on chatting with her mother on insignificant topics, only shaking her off half an hour later with a promise to call more.  

She dumps the phone on the couch and throws her head back, cursing the call for forcing her to things she didn’t want to think about tonight, like Oliver or John – the latter of which, despite their making up, hasn’t really spoken to her in two weeks.

 _That_ issue she knows is partially her fault, because if she went over to the Diggle-Michaels household right now she would be welcomed with open arms, but he’s waiting for her to make the move. And she has too much pride to ask.

And admittedly, though living under his roof made her feel slightly suffocated and she was glad to have her own space again, a part of her felt quite alone as she settled in with her dinner and an old episode of _The X-Files,_ until an alert on her phone made her realize she was going to miss something else.

Changing the channel without a seconds hesitation she was met with the sight of players in green jerseys skating around the ice in warm up, as announcers chattered away on how this would be the Archers’ last home game before a road trip along the East.

 _Oh crap. John’s going to be gone a while._ Felicity made a note to try and get that phone call in before his trip.

It was a fun game to watch, Hub City haven’t actually been contenders for the past decade and the team was mostly made of goons and enforcer-types. Early in the first John has a pair of goals under his belt – _yeah, if they win this Felicity is definitely calling and taking advantage of his good mood_ – and Felicity is enjoying watching this game.

Late in the second period, when Starling is up by 3, things fall apart.

It happens when Oliver’s chasing the puck on a power play, so focused on what was in front of him he didn’t see Max Fuller coming from behind.

It was a strange thing, not like him to be so unaware of his surroundings. But Fuller shoved him into the boards easily with a nasty check and skated on. Right before the camera panned away, Felicity saw Oliver go down at the force of the check and wince. Though attention focused on the other end of the ice, a chill went through Felicity as the announcers mention Oliver again.

“And it… it looks like Queen is having a little trouble getting up from that hit.”

The angle changes back to Oliver, where he stands up slowly from the ice. His face is screwed up in pain as he shoves his helmet loose. He’s cradling his hand close to his chest and she can tell from the way his mouth moves only a string of expletives are coming out.

John rushes over and pulls his head close, presumably asking him questions about what hurts and what doesn’t, as is a referee as they lead him to the Archers’ bench.

Every player, on either side, knocks their sticks against the boards in a show of solidarity as he leaves the ice, and there’s a ringing applause throughout the arena.

They replay his hit a few more times, and each time she flinches. It’s _bad,_ he lands completely on his hand, and Felicity knows from her childhood with John how heavy all his equipment is. when the final replay of the hit gives a close up of Oliver’s face, and she can see how his face screws up with pain almost _instantly_ , she decides she’s had enough and turns her TV back to Netflix like she had originally planned. The takeout she had been working her way through suddenly lacks appeal.

Later, she gets two alerts. One tells her that Starling ended up beating Hub City 4-0.

The other, is one single line. _Queen (broken hand, 6-8 weeks) will not be travelling with the team._

Reading the words make a strangely sick feeling settle into the pit of Felicity’s stomach.

The sound of a young Scully and Mulder bickering become background noise as Felicity tries to mull over one very important question.

_Why does she care so much?_

* * *

She calls John the next day, and curses herself because although _she knows_ she was going to do this anyway, it doesn’t look so good on her when the first words out of her mouth are “How’s Oliver doing?”

But the thing about her step-brother is, he’s way less petty than she can be. So he chuckles and lets it slide.

“He’s pissed at himself, which is ridiculous. I’m more pissed at Fuller but I told him we’d get back at him next time we play Hub.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Felicity realizes she didn’t _exactly_ register the second half of what John said. “Six to eight weeks, huh? That’s brutal.”

“That’s lucky, actually. It could have been a lot worse. Now if he actually takes it easy, which isn’t really Oliver’s style, he’ll be back there in no time.”

Felicity hums in response as she reaches for her morning coffee. “Are you all geared up for the trip?”

It works, because John moves away from the topic of Oliver and launches into a story about how hard road trips are getting now that Sara is older and kicks up a fuss when he leaves, today’s episode being her climbing into his open suitcase. He promised to send her the picture of it after.

Just as she’s about to hang up, John’s voice grows serious. “Felicity, there’s one thing I need to ask from you.”

And, well, since fewer sentences in the English language terrify her more than _that,_ she freezes and waits for him to continue.

“While I’m gone, do me a favor and check in on Oliver a few times, okay? I really am worried about him. He’ll be fine, but I know what he’s like. And you’re his neighbor now so I guess it would be easy.”

She doesn’t say anything, because she’s imagining the scene in her head and it doesn’t end well.

“Felicity?”

“Sure,” her mouth moves on its own accord. “I’ll check in on him.”

* * *

 

Felicity wants to put this off for as long as she can, but eventually she ends up at Oliver’s front door with a container of soup in her hand.

Right before she knocks, she looks down at the Styrofoam – takeout, because Felicity wouldn’t be able to handle even the canned type right now – and internally groans. Soup? He doesn’t have a cold. But she couldn’t come empty handed and panicked, getting the chicken noodle dish from the place across the street seemed like a good idea at the time. And in any case, Oliver’s nice, she reasons, he’ll be appreciative of whatever he got her.

_Unless he doesn’t. Maybe he’s allergic. Does he have any allergies? Maybe corn offends him or broth-y liquids in general. Maybe he’ll take one look and will be so disgusted –_

Her internal spiral is quickly cut off – to her horror – when Oliver opens the door.

Which would be fine – except she didn’t knock.

“Felicity?” he furrows his eyebrows together. “How… long have you been standing there?”

He looks… not great. Well, that’s a lie, because he’ll always look great. But his eyes are tired, and he’s holding his right hand – covered in a cast – against his chest. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that are starting to pill and an old Team USA shirt – the logo stretched across his chest is peeling off and if Felicity had to guess she’d say it was from his stint as a junior.

She ignores his question and sends a nervous smile up at him. “Hey neighbor.” She lifts her takeout bag awkwardly, “a little bird told me you might need some company these days. Mind if I come in and join your wallowing?”

He stares at her for a minute, and Felicity feels incredibly stupid. She’s just about to say “never mind” and leave (and move, both out of the building and the city) before he speaks.

“John?”

The relief she feels should _not_ be so freeing. She nods.

He opens the door a little wider and gestures for her to come in.

“For the record, I was not wallowing.”

She walks into his living room, where the TV is on and sees – _yep just as she expected –_ sports highlights.

“Sure you weren’t.” she smirks. “Okay well, you can change that, I’m going to get this food ready, and tonight I introduce you to the piece of art that is Game of Thrones.”

She takes a _fake it til you make it_ attitude on to get some confidence and shed her awkwardness and surprisingly, it works.

“How did you–”

“You looked confused when I made a reference at John’s house one time.”

The worry that her stellar memory might make her seem creepy only lasts for a minute, because he nods. When the corners of his mouth curl up in what Felicity accepts is just an _adorable_ smile, she realizes two things.

One: This crush of hers (and she’s done not calling it what it is) is taking a life of it’s own.

Two: she doesn’t think she minds. At all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter - @smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr - overwatchandarrow


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t take me four months to update! I’m shook.
> 
> On the one hand, I think this is the longest I’ve actually put Oliver and Felicity together so far? On the other, I might have hit fast forward just a bit just because. 
> 
> Hope you guys like this. John’s back. More hints for stuff to come, if I did my job right. Enjoy.

The thing about a broken hand is that it shouldn’t be a blessing in disguise.

Except to Oliver, it kind of is.

The blessing comes in the form of one talkative blonde, who surprisingly situates herself quite perfectly into his life.

Even more surprisingly is how easily he lets her.

Because despite how nervous she made him (okay, _still_ makes him, he’s still a man. With eyes. And a – well) they fall into the easiest friendship Oliver’s experienced since… well, since John Diggle.

Maybe it’s a family thing.

But right now, he sits, three weeks into his injury and, though bored to tears without hockey, perfectly happy from his spot in Felicity’s couch.

It’s Saturday afternoon and gameday, which would normally mean morning skate, drills, pregame rituals, and press. But unfortunately, Oliver’s plans remain open until the evening, when he’ll be forced to watch the game from the press box and have the camera pan to him every time something goes wrong (which, he’s learned, is its own special kind of hell).

In the mean time, he’s watching some 90s comedy on Felicity’s couch because she decided they had too much “intense TV” and needed a happy change of pace.

In the three weeks he’s been stuck, they’ve fallen into a familiar pattern of switching between his apartment and hers. The first night she showed up on his doorstep with soup and a smile made Oliver’s heart _honest to god_ swell up. The knowledge that John put her up to it didn’t even bother him when she kept returning for more and he realized she enjoyed as company as much as he did hers.

The first time she fell asleep at his place was the first Saturday of his injury – midway through their _Lord of the Rings_ marathon her head gradually landed on his shoulder. He looked down in surprise to see her eyes closed and a peaceful expression fall over her features.

He wasn’t in any hurry to wake her up, knowing that the stress of her job wore her out during the week and she was using her downtime to keep him company when she was exhausted. Looking down to see how all the worry lines disappeared from her forehead and the steady rise and fall of her breathing made him smile. She needed this.

So yeah, he let her sleep there for fifteen minutes (for her own sake, of course, not because it felt nice or anything), and he would have been content to leave her there all night if she needed.

She didn’t, of course, because a few loud bangs from the movie jerked her awake and she looked at him with wide eyes, apologizing profusely and wiping away drool that didn’t actually exist.

When he tried to talk her down, she of course wouldn’t listen (“I fell asleep on you! While you’re _injured_!” “Felicity, _relax._ It’s not even the side that I hurt.”) and ran out of the apartment like her heels were on fire.

From that point forward Felicity decided they would alternate apartments on different nights.

Where the correlation lied, Oliver didn’t question, because her place holds a certain warmth to it that his own never has, and he loved the chance to learn more about her each time he went.

They also learned very quickly that Felicity should never – _ever –_ be allowed near a kitchen unless it was to get something from the fridge.

That was partially his fault, because Oliver had picked up a few tricks living alone for years and had mentioned in passing how bummed he was that he couldn’t make anything home cooked with one hand. He should have known from the way she looked down at her takeout boxes guiltily what she would try next.

Long story short, nobody got hurt but her lasagne attempt _did_ mean her floor had to be evacuated. And with the early November chill settling over Starling City, none of her neighbors had been too thrilled about that.

She tried apologizing, of course, but Oliver found the entire thing ridiculously endearing.

All the effort she was making for him, to show that she just _cares,_ did strange things to his insides, and he didn’t mind at all.

Thus their friendship forged in a series of odd events – one ugly food poisoning weekend, one night Felicity couldn’t get out of a forced girl’s night with Lyla and her scary work colleagues (and even scarier drinking ability) and Oliver had to pick her up (she insisted on walking, and Felicity Smoak was quite stubborn when drunk), and one accidental visit that turned into a standing lunch date they had outside QC every weekday.

It was the kind of friendship that snuck up on Oliver, but fit right into his life like there was a spot waiting for it all along.

Which is how, of course, he finds himself enjoying his afternoon in.

Gone is any awkwardness when he joins her on the couch and she immediately shoves her (unfairly cold, but still bare) feet under his legs.

Yet another thing he learns about Felicity Smoak, is that once she feels comfortable around a person she lets any physical boundaries fall away. Any moment with her is filled with constant poking, shoving, leaning, and  -- during one particularly emotional episode of _Doctor Who_ he didn’t understand -- cuddling.

But he can’t say he minds.

Really, it’s quite the opposite.

It’s a testament to their newfound closeness that Oliver finds himself comfortable enough to bring up something she’ll hate him for as the credits roll past the screen.

“Hey, Felicity?” she hums in response. “When was the last time you called John?”

Next to him, she tenses and keeps her eyes on the screen.

“I don’t know, Oliver,” she says a little icily. “When was the last time you had dinner with your parents?” she looks over at him, eyes as hard as her voice.

Along with all the wonderful things Oliver’s learned about her in the past few weeks, he’s learned some of the not wonderful things too. Like when she closes up like this.

“That’s not –“ he purses his lips together when he feels his frustration mounting. “You’re avoiding the question, Felicity.”

“Well, his phone isn’t broken,” she redirects her attention back to the now dark screen, her expression shuttered. “He’s perfectly capable of calling me too, you know.”

“You know _why_ he’s waiting, Felicity,” he shifts from his spot on the couch and tries to catch her eye. “He’s been back for a week and I know you’ve only talked to him once about me.”

She throws a hand up in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Oliver?” her voice changes, and she sounds _tired._ Oliver isn’t sure if bringing this up was the best idea anymore. “Nothing’s changed. He’s still going to think I’m working too hard. I’m not going to explain to him for the hundredth time why I can’t just put everything aside.”

If he’s already in trouble, Olive figures he might as well go all the way. “Maybe… Maybe he has a point, Felicity.”

The look she shoots him would, ordinarily, make him drop the subject and move on. But he’s had this on his mind for too long.

“I’ve been seeing how hard you work first hand these days, Felicity, and you’re exhausted. And it doesn’t help that you’re always with me after work or on your days off,” he raises a hand when she opens her mouth to protest that, “and I know you don’t mind, you keep saying, but Felicity I can see how much this stuff gets to you. You left work at 8 the other day and you still insisted on coming upstairs when you could barely keep your eyes open.”

She clenches her jaw tight. His words seem to have an affect on her.

He leans in, and forces his voice into a softer tone. “What is it that’s making you push yourself like this, Felicity?” she looks at her lap instead. “Is it… did someone say something? Is it your supervisor? I know you don’t like me getting involved, but is it something my father should know about?”

Whatever he says seems to click because Felicity’s head shoots up at his words, “No!” she stops herself when her Loud Voice registers and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” she says more calmly. “But you and John are blowing this out of proportion. It’s just… hard to be a woman in computer science. And QC is great, but I still need to work hard. And I want to move up, so it’s going to take some time.”

He wants to push more, because he can see there’s something more swimming in her eyes, something he’s noticed over the weeks but never commented on. Instead, he nods. “Okay,” the single word makes her visibly untense. “I apologize for pushing. I just have a little experience with letting family relations get strained.”

She nods understandingly. “And I’m sorry for bringing up your family. That wasn’t fair.”

He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. Though he didn’t stand on the worst grounds with the cold-as-ice Robert and Moira Queen, they always had somewhat strained family dinners because of Oliver’s choice of a career path. It wasn’t so much the hockey – it was what he planned for the day after he would have to hang up his skates. And Felicity knew this.

He smiles, stealing the remote away to find sports highlights and he knows when she loudly groans they’re okay again.

 

* * *

 

Maybe Felicity could have timed this better.

The Archers have back to back losses under their belt after last night’s game, and though John’s mood would be a little sour, Oliver was even more surly to even try and text with.

So that’s how she finds herself outside her stepbrother’s house for the first time more weeks than she wants to count, holding donuts and coffee in her hands.

Food is always the best peace offering, right?

It’s early Sunday morning. Normally Felciity would have a hard time rolling out of bed before 10, but today she’d been tossing and turning since 6 am, knowning what she had to do.

When the door opens, it’s Lyla who answers with a knowing grin. Sara follows curiously behind and Felicity would be lying if the sight of her niece’s face lighting up doesn’t make her melt.

She missed all three of them more than she had let herself believe, it seems.

Lyla makes no comment of how long it’s taken her sister in law to come to her senses, and instead says, “Good morning, Felicity, breakfast is almost ready,” as she opens the door wider.

Felicity tentatively follows the scent into the kitchen, where John stands over a skillet, appearing to be unaware of her arrival.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. This is the same guy who forgave her when she broke his video game console in a fit of jealous rage at one point in their childhood. She can do this. “Hi John.”

At her words he turns around and grins. “Hey, stranger.” He gestures to the french toast in his hand. “Breakfast?”

She ignores his words, dumping her own peace offerings on the island before walking straight into his half raised arms.

She hears him chuckle before reaching back to turn the stove off and resting a warm hand in her hair. “Felicity, I thought we said everything we needed to,” he says, referring to that night on the back patio.

She pulls back and sighs because _wow,_ she does not deserve John Diggle sometimes. “We did,” she concedes, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve been the best sister, since I moved out of here like my ass was on fire and then didn’t really call or come over.” the words tumblr out of her mouth before she realizes, but unlike most times she lets the babble take over when she realizes it makes her shoulders feel lighter.

Of course, all her step brother does is accept her promise to be better at communicating.

They move onto lighter conversation topics over breakfast. They trade stories while conveniently skating over talk of her job. John tells her about the last few games and his time on the road and she tells him about the latest Marvel movie she dragged Oliver to see.

She almost misses the glance Lyla and John share when she talks. She would dismiss it, if not for John’s wry grin and the way he leans over and says, “so, Oliver, huh?”

She knows that smile. And that tone. And though it feels like a conversation they had at this very table forever ago, when Felicity barely even knew Oliver, she knows she can’t just storm out this time.

Instead, she asks challengingly, “what about Oliver?” 

Her step brother holds his hands up semi-defensively. “Nothing, just seems like you two have gotten awfully close.”

“Well you’re the one who wanted me to check up on him after he broke his hand in the first place,” it comes out with more whine than Felicity wanted, but she can’t help it when she knows the path John’s going down and her t shirt collar feels tight.

“I know, Felicity, I was just observing.” He leans back and grins. “it’s nice. I think you both could use a friend.”  
The specificity in his word choice isn’t lost on Felicity. And she doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I like spending time with him,” she shrugs, “I haven’t really made friends since I moved here.”

He nods. “I know Oliver better than most people. I know he probably needs you just as much.” He takes a sip of his orange juice. “I also know enough about him that it’s no coincidence you’re not with him after last night’s game.”

She looks up sheepishly, wondering if that makes her a bad friend.

As if reading her mind, John smiles. “It’s okay Felicity. If I know Oliver, and I do, it’s better that you make him know he can’t get away with being…”

“Broody?” she pipes up.

“Broody. Especially over things like a game he has no control over.”

She nods. “He’s really not been happy with the injury thing. I think he has an appointment with his trainers today and is half hoping they’ll tell him he’s made a miraculous recovery.” She comments with a roll of her eyes. John laughs in agreement.

“That sounds exactly like Oliver Queen.” He shifts forward and his tone changes slgihtly. “but seriously, Felicity, I’ve noticed a change in both him and you these past few weeks. It’s not something I’ve seen in the last few years. And I guess I’m trying to say…. I approve.”

Felicity arches an eyebrow in response. “You… aprove.” She echoes dryly.

“Yup.” He says with a smirk.

“I wasn’t aware you still had to approve the people I hang out with.”

“Oh, no, of course not. ” he gets up from the table to clear their plates. “I meant you.”

He smiles before he turns away, but not before Felicity sees a slight hardness in her brother’s eyes.

He may be joking, but Felicity’s starting to realize how far deep that friendship goes. And the harmless crush she has might more harmful than she thought if she ever lets it grow. Or worse, act on it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> twitter: @smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr: overwatchandarrow


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An (embarrassingly) short update (after months) is still an update, right? Right. 
> 
> Please don’t hate me if it's unsatisfying. I rewrote this like three times. 
> 
> Um... Enjoy!

 Felicity’s having a bit of an off day.

It starts in the morning, when she misreads the overcast skies to just be the Starling standard and gets caught in the rain on her walk to work. With no umbrella, she tugs her coat closer and silently laments at her decision to bust out her new suede boots today.

Nobody at work comments on her damp hair and expression that looks as cloudy as the sky outside, for which she’s grateful. But someone _does_ run into her when on her way to a meeting and gets coffee all over her black skirt (it doesn’t stain, which she counts as a win, but it doesn’t help the whole _wet_ feeling she’s been fighting all day).

By lunch, she’s found that she messed up her presentation at least three times, dropped her report twice and almost congratulated the wrong woman on her pregnancy.

By the end of the day, she apparently looks so distressed her supervisor encourages her to go home early.                                                                                                     

Which is how she finds herself at home before sunset on a Monday, something that hasn’t happened since she moved to Starling City.  

Normally she wouldn’t be too pleased at leaving so early, but as she lies on the couch with her head thrown back in a pointless effort to relieve the ache banding around her forehead, she can’t bring herself to care.

She’s just about to shoot a text to Oliver to cancel their dinner plans when her phone starts buzzing in her hand and the man in question’s face appears on her screen.

“Hey, Oliver,” she can’t hide the tired sigh that escapes when she answers. “I was just about to text you actually –“

“Are you at the office right now?” he cuts her off hurriedly, which makes her frown into the receiver. That’s not the kind of thing Oliver does. Something in his voice is off as well. It’s not something she’s used to hearing.

Excitement.

The realization makes her take a deep breath and patiently respond. “I’m actually at home right now.”

“Great! Stay there, I’m coming over.” he pauses and huffs out a laugh. Felicity can practically _feel_ him smiling. “I have news.” He says cryptically before hanging up.

Despite herself, Felicity stares at the phone in her hand and smiles. She’s never quite heard Oliver that excited before, so whatever mysterious news he has must really be important.

Before her mind is able to run wild with all the _not so great_ things he could come to her with, there’s a rapid knocking on her door.

“Felicity?” he calls out on the other side.

 _God,_ he’s eager today.

When she opens the door she’s met with the sight of Oliver, bouncing (yes, bouncing) on his toes. His cheeks are tinged red from the cold December air, the colour travelling down to where his lips are turned into a wide grin.

“I’m cleared to skate again!” he blurts out before she can even get in a greeting, his grin somehow growing broader at his words.

Before Felicity can think of a way to respond he’s leaning down and pulling her into his arms in a tight hug.

And _wow,_ she is not expecting that. He’s pulled her in tighter than they’ve been in the casual embraces that became their form of goodbye. His arms banding around her waist push her straight into his chest, and her own arms move into the opening of his winter coat and press against the thin cotton of his shirt, making the entire thing more intimate than she probably should.  

When he pulls back – mercifully, Felicity was holding her breath to avoid doing something embarrassing like _smelling_ him – he’s still smiling.

“We’re celebrating.” He declares. “Grab your coat, I’ll wait here.”

Any other time, she would have weaseled out, citing her very real headache and stayed home.

But God help her if Oliver doesn’t look ridiculously endearing with his kid-on-Christmas expression.

So, she puts on her coat with a small smile and gestures to the door. “What did you have in mind?”

“I know it’s winter and goes against everything I’ve said about my meal plan but... how does ice cream sound?” he looks at her with hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets, head tipped forward almost guiltily, and she can’t help but laugh.

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

After they get their cups – fat free vanilla and pistachio for Oliver, mocha for Felicity – they settle in on a bench outside the ice cream shop. Though the downpour from earlier is long gone, the cold weather leaves the area empty, and they settle comfortably under the setting sun, light from the shop illuminating their faces.

She lets Oliver hold the conversation most of the way there – it’s not like him to be so talkative, but it’s nice. She nods absently as he tells her the details of what his trainer said earlier. It probably makes her a bad friend, but she realizes when he’s too deep in his story about _Pete,_ who might be his trainer or coach or teammate, that she’s really struggling to keep up with him tonight.

She hums and nods at appropriate moments, hoping it’ll go unnoticed.

It doesn’t work for very long.

“Hey,” he says gently as she scrapes her plastic spoon along the bottom of her paper cup. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.” He says with a frown. “Actually, you’ve kind of been like this since I picked you up but I didn’t say anything. That was probably a mistake. So, is everything okay?”

“Yeah sorry,” she looks down at her hands, “I just had an off day at work and was feeling kind of tired.”

“You were home early today.” He observes.

“I was. Guess all those late nights are catching up to me, like you said.”

“Oh so,” he replaces his concerned frown with a smirk, “what you’re saying is, I was right?”

She huffs out a small laugh and rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say that, I’m just saying something you’ve said before _could_ be true.”

“Sure, Felicity,” he bumps her shoulder gently. “One of these days you should just admit I’m right. It builds character.”

The tension in her shoulders evaporates. “Oh sure.” She says. “Like when you were right about the Greek place near work that gave us food poisoning?”

He raises a finger at her defensively. “Well, I was right when I said we needed to go see a doctor, wasn’t I?”

She laughs and shakes her head at him, and eventually he drops his hand and joins her.

“But seriously, Felicity,” he says gently, moving closer to meet her eyes, “work stuff is okay?”

She forces a smile in response. “Work stuff is fine, I promise.”

He nods. “Sorry. It’s just… I know I say this a lot but you really do come home late and I worry –“

“Oliver,” she places a hand on his wrist, “You don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t need to,” he leans in and drops his voice to a whisper, “but I can’t help it.”

If you’d asked Felicity later, she wouldn’t be able to explain what happened next.

Because saying she got caught in the moment feels too cliché for her liking, but she doesn’t know how else to describe it.

It happens somewhere between realizing how the dim lighting hits his features and makes her breath catch.  Or maybe its when he exhales and she feels how close they’ve gotten.

Whatever it is, it makes her eyes dart to his lips and she swears they part in response.

When she wills herself to look in his eyes, they look darker – _or is the light just playing tricks on her_ – and her throat goes dry. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips almost reflexively and she watches as his eyes track the movement.

She can’t explain it. It’s magnetic and it’s hypnotizing but they’re both moving in closer and _closer,_ their noses almost touching and _sweet Jesus,_ it’s happening.

She doesn’t wait, her eyes flutter shut instinctively and she can feel his cool breath ghosting over her lips –

When a sharp trill rings from Felicity’s lap, both snap their heads back sharply. She looks down to see her phone lighting up with messages from Lyla.

Lyla Michaels-Diggle is many things, a certified badass and probably a supermom, she is also someone who can never text in one single message.

Which is why both watch the messages fall on the screen as they try and catch their breaths. Lyla informs her of a “Family dinner… Tomorrow!!! …. Oliver too!!...” followed by a string of incomprehensible emojis in multiple messages, each one bringing a sharp sound that makes Felicity flinch.

And just like that, as quickly as it appeared, the moment dissolves.

An uncomfortable silence falls over them when her phone eventually goes dark again. “Maybe we should get going.” She suggests. He nods and pushes off the bench.

She wonders if this is something they should talk about. It _is_ something they should talk about. A dozen questions hang off the tip of her tongue. 

But as they walk home, Oliver’s silence a sharp contrast from how they arrived, Felicity realizes what that was.

A mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sigh] they're both so dumb. Some Oliver insight next chapter :) 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> twitter - @smoakoverwatch  
> tumblr - overwatchandarrow

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback would be much appreciated.
> 
> you can catch me on tumblr @overwatchandarrow and twitter @smoakoverwatch


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